


tit for tat

by silkinsilence



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: BDSM, Blood Kink, Bondage, Dom/sub, F/F, Medical Kink, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, sort of hate sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 02:49:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14823798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkinsilence/pseuds/silkinsilence
Summary: A Blackwatch mission gone wrong means Moira winds up under the care of Angela Ziegler, who gets a little too cocky for her own good.





	tit for tat

**Author's Note:**

> An extended version of a thing I wrote for Femslash February. Enjoy.
> 
> This fic has a Chinese-language translation [here!](http://iwanttomarrymockingbird.lofter.com/post/1e27baa8_12df61350) Many thanks to [I_Am_Titanium.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Titanium/pseuds/I_Am_Titanium) ♥

The world was ricocheting around her. She was laying down, but she could still feel the earth spinning at a terrible pace as if she was caught on some demonic carousel. Righting herself was out of the question, and even the thought of it made a searing pain rip through her torso. Her head pounded behind her eyes and her mouth was moving but no sounds were coming out, and it hurt like a knife was stabbing her _again_ and _again_ —

“Moira! Stay conscious; we’re almost back to base, you’re gonna pull through—”

She opened her eyes and regretted it; the vertigo overtook her at once. She retched and the sickening taste of bile and blood filled her mouth. She slammed her eyelids closed once more, but the instant of sight was enough for her to recognize her commander. He was little more than a nonsensical collection of colors, but she’d know that beanie anywhere.

“Gabe,” she tried to say, but her voice was garbled and her mouth full of blood. There was a warm hand on her own. She should focus on that, should stay awake as he said, but it was too much. She couldn’t breathe. Her veins floated dark red in front of her closed eyelids, and she lost hold of the world around her—

—There was too much white, even with her eyes closed, and everything seemed to hurt even more. Her hand was cold now, and there were no voices. She dared to wrench her eyelids open, though the pain of it made her want to scream.

There was a woman leaning over her, haloed in light. She recognized her, of course. The irony of it made her attempt to smile, though her muscles were not responding properly. She had expected this. She had courted Mab, queen of the fairies, and now she was to be her lover’s offering to hell.

“Please,” she rasped. Her arm wouldn’t move. She wanted to reach up, to touch her one last time, to feel something soft before she went.

The needle in her neck was nothing compared to the rest of her pain, and when darkness came this time it was peaceful and thick enough to drown her completely.

* * *

She awoke suddenly, cleanly, and opened her eyes without thinking about it. The pain was gone. Her body merely felt very heavy and useless. It was dark, but second by second she managed to make out the details of a room she knew well: Blackwatch’s medical bay. Her medical bay. And now she was a patient, lying in a patient’s bed.

She remembered the mission with a start. She’d been with Genji, and then there had been that _blast,_ and then her memories became a flurry of meaningless sensations. Had they gotten the target?

None of the other beds were occupied. She frowned. She was in a patient’s gown and her communicator was nowhere in sight. The insistent lethargy of her body held her down, but she wanted to move. She wanted answers.

Moira had trained her patients to press the call button only  _once_ and only  _briefly,_ and they had all learned remarkably well, but these were limitations she did not apply to herself as she slammed her palm into it again and again until the door of the adjoining office opened and spilled light in to the room.

She stopped pressing the button. All at once she seemed to feel livelier. Never would she have expected  _Angela Ziegler_ to acquiesce to looking after her. And how lovely she looked, bathed in the sterile yellow light of the office, spectacles perched on her nose,  appearing very irritated.

Moira mentally added several days to the estimate of how long she would need to stay in bed. Certainly it would be imprudent to aggravate her precarious condition by leaving too soon.  In fact, suddenly she could think of a whole host of procedures she should undertake just to be on the safe side.

“You rang?” Angela quipped.

“I did.” Moira winced; her mouth and throat were hoarse and bone-dry. “And you came.” A few seconds later she realized what she’d said, and she couldn’t keep from smirking.

“Did you need something, or did you just...want me to come?”

Surely the corner of Angela’s mouth twitched upward, though it was too dark in the room to be certain.

“What happened? How long was I out?”

“Commander Reyes was very close-lipped about details. I know that a nail bomb was involved and that Genji was there; I’ve spent the day pulling metal out of both of you.”

“Is he—?”

“He’s fine. Much better off than you.”

Moira toyed with the sheet underneath her fingers. Still they felt too heavy to lift. Her mind was awake, even jittery, but her body was fatigued. The recovery would do that, she supposed. Cellular regeneration over such a brief period of time consumed vast amounts of energy.

“And you’re in my medbay.”

Angela’s eyes narrowed and she stalked closer. It was a good look on her. Moira tried not to let her eagerness show on her face.

“Were I to treat you in the medical wing _proper,_ there would be questions about the presence of a woman like you.”

“But Doctor Ziegler,” Moira said, and there was no keeping the mirth out of her voice, “surely you concede that the presence of a woman like me can be quite...pleasurable.”

She expected a blush, but there wasn’t one. Angela’s smile was icy as she stepped even closer, and with a jolt in her throat and between her thin legs, Moira realized that perhaps she’d drastically miscalculated the situation.

“Ms. O’Deorain,” Angela said, voice sweet as honey poured over thorns, “when I am the physician here, this is my medbay, and you are my patient.”

She pulled back the covers. Her hands were none too gentle as she grabbed Moira’s arm and turned it, inspecting  her IV. Her fingers traced up Moira’s arm. She rested them gently against her throat as if checking for a pulse. Moira was certain she could feel her heart speeding up.

“You would be wise to remember that, and to behave yourself,” Angela concluded. For a moment, just a moment, she pressed down. The suggestion of a threat.

Moira swallowed. Yes, she was certain that her injuries necessitated a lengthy stay.

* * *

“The biotic treatment seems to be working very well.”

Angela was wearing surgical gloves, but her body heat still radiated through them as her fingers glided over Moira’s bare skin. Down her clavicle, down the faint lines that crossed her chest. A few days ago those lines had been incisions. Her body had lain open on Angela’s operating table. The surgeon’s hands had worked inside her, pulled glass and metal from her,  perused heart and skin and intestines. Her gloves had been soaked through with Moira’s blood.

And she had been unconscious for all of it.

Moira couldn’t help the shudder, less from revulsion than she would care to admit. A sick thing to think about. Almost enough to disgust herself. But certainly disgust was hardly as prominent in her now as want.

“Are you cold? Please, stay still.” Angela splayed her hand across Moira’s stomach and smiled patronizingly down at her. She was still wearing the glasses. Did she know how damn attractive they were?

“No, I’m not cold,” she ground out. “And it’s not like I can move, is it—”

She yanked her wrists against the restraints to illustrate her point. Angela’s smile only grew. She looked as smug as a cat.  God, what Moira wouldn’t give to pin her to the bed and tease her until she was red-cheeked and whimpering her apologies, dripping all over the sheets—

But she, or some more viscerally honest part of herself, could not deny that it was enjoyable also to lie under her thumb, unable to move her arms or legs as Angela traced paths down her naked body.

She had raised an eyebrow and several objections when Angela had informed her she was to be restrained for her examination today. Angela’s excuse for reasoning had been that a certain  _other_ Blackwatch member had attempted to kill her when she failed to restrain him. A pitiful cover, really, but it wasn’t as if Moira had much real interest in objecting. If she objected, after all, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the sensation of Angela’s gloved fingers rolling over one erect nipple.

“You say you’re not cold, but...”

She pinched. Moira’s eyelids slammed shut. Her lips parted in a silent moan. Was it the exposure that made her so sensitive? The utter powerlessness? Or was it just the physical sensation of Angela’s fingers tightening and pulling until it hurt? 

Then she let go, leaving the little nub sore and stiffer than ever.

“Doctor Ziegler,” Moira said, and tried not to gasp as the fingers flicked. “How unprofessional.”

“Perhaps,” Angela conceded. Her hand stilled; she rolled her chair backward to situate herself between Moira’s shackled ankles. There was something delightfully humiliating in having her legs spread like this, with nothing to hide her blatant interest in Angela’s every touch.

“But what’s this?” Her latex-covered fingers prodded between Moira’s spread labia, toying with her admittedly slick entrance. Moira bit back her groan with some effort. “This is an abnormal response for a medical examination. Wouldn’t you say we need further testing?”

She would not give Angela the satisfaction of a response, she decided, though it was excruciatingly difficult to resist when a thumb gently pressed against her clit.

Angela’s fingers slipped inside her, and Moira made a low noise, glad for the restraints now as they hid the desperate rocking of her hips.

“Shall I fetch a speculum?” Angela asked, and her smug smile only grew wider when Moira bit her lip and nodded.

It was an old-fashioned one, the kind whose presence made Moira raise her eyebrows and want to ask exactly why the surgeon had it lying around. But the sight of the steely duck-billed instrument, almost cruel in its appearance as it gleamed in the light, was enough to stop her tongue for now. There would be plenty of time for taunting later, perhaps time to see how Angela looked spread around it—

The metal was icy against her inner thigh. Moira tensed at the chill, but there was nowhere to go; her ankles twisted in their clamps as the speculum almost seemed to _burn_ against her skin and she wondered whether Angela had been keeping it in a damn freezer.

But it was less the tool and more the stirrups that had Moira’s attention. She certainly wouldn’t be one to accuse Angela of doing things half-heartedly, but she hadn’t thought about that, let alone expected it. But now her fellow physician was briskly undoing the restraints that kept her ankles bound to the foot of the bed, lifting first the right and then the left up into their new hanging position, and tightening the straps once more.

Moira might have been laying in a larger bed, reclining against the headboard with her legs hoisted over Angela’s shoulders and those pretty lips tasting her cunt. The position was much the same. But this was a hospital bed, and she was bound hand and foot, and Angela was wearing a lab coat and glasses and looking stern and businesslike.

Moira _ached._ She bit her lip and tried to flex her thighs in vain. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Angela could see every last inch of her. Could she see how wet she was, wetter each second as their roleplay and her imagination took each resolutely perverted turn?

“There, that’s more comfortable,” Angela said, patting Moira’s ankle.

Moira wasn’t sure she’d agree with _comfortable,_ but certainly _enjoyable._

“I don’t think we’ll need any lubricant.”

She was smiling like the demon she was and then without warning her fingers were stroking between Moira’s labia, brushing her clit. One pass, two, and then they were holding her lips open to make way for the speculum.

If the metal had felt icy against her thigh, it was _frigid_ on her folds. Moira’s mouth opened in a silent, involuntary cry for an instant before she gritted her teeth together. She’d _get_ Angela for this, shove ice up her cunt and see how _she_ liked it—

But Moira liked it a lot, really, liked every _centimeter_ of the damn thing as it slid resolutely into her. It had been a while since she’d had anything more substantial than fingers inside of her, and while penetration left something to be desired, this was pleasant. More than pleasant, as Angela’s eyes flicked between her spread legs and her face, as her free hand rubbed gentle circles into Moira’s thigh, as the speculum went as far as it would go.

“You’re very quiet, Ms. O’Deorain,” Angela murmured. “Please speak up if you’re in any pain. We want this to be as comfortable as possible.”

“Oh, of course you do, you—”

It _thrust_ against her cervix, too deep, too cold, and Moira fell silent.

Angela was smiling.

“Any discomfort, Ms. O’Deorain?”

Moira allowed herself a long breath in and a longer exhale before responding.

“It’s perfect, Doctor Ziegler.”

“Good,” Angela cooed. Her smile became, somehow, more angelic. “Now I’m going to open it. Again, tell me if you feel any discomfort at all.”

Perhaps that was Angela trying to ensure she didn’t go too far, trying to tell Moira she would stop if asked. Her intent didn’t particularly matter; Moira wouldn’t stop her. She wouldn’t admit Angela had any power at all.

As Angela turned the handle on the speculum, Moira could _feel_ it spreading her open, feel her walls stretching to accommodate the pressure. It felt odd, but not bad. Nowhere near bad, especially when Angela dropped down to observe her. The thought of those blue eyes looking at her, looking _inside_ her, was intoxicating. Moira’s clit was aching. Her hips and thighs were tense and sore from trying in vain to rock against the restraints.

“You seem on-edge.” Angela straightened up again and kept her eyes fixed on Moira’s as her hand left light, teasing strokes on the inside of her thigh. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

Three centimeters away, two, one, and then—

Angela switched to the other thigh, and Moira nearly groaned aloud. The witch knew exactly what she was doing, and her smug smile proved it. In an instant Moira decided. It didn’t matter how much she needed to be touched. It didn’t matter that every nerve seemed sensitive, that Angela’s fingers were leaving goosebumps in their wake. She gritted her teeth. She would not beg. That was Angela’s specialty, not hers.

“You can’t do anything for me, Doctor Ziegler,” she said.

Angela raised her eyebrows. Moira was deeply gratified to watch her smile disappear.

“Nothing?” she asked. A single finger stroked, feather-light, over the hood of Moira’s clit. It was good, it was so good, but Moira hadn’t gotten as far as she’d gotten in life through a lack of willpower.

She smiled.

“Nothing.”

“Very well then.”

Angela’s hands withdrew. She looked back down, her countenance completely businesslike once more.

“I’ll be in the office if you need anything.”

And she had the nerve to turn her back and walk the other direction, leaving Moira bound hand and foot, very put-out and on-edge with the speculum still spreading her open.

* * *

It was past midnight and Overwatch’s main medical bay was dark except for the flickering lights of various medical instruments. Curtains were drawn around several of the beds; a team had returned battered but victorious from a strike in South Africa that afternoon.

Moira slipped between beds as quietly and gracefully as a shadow. It wouldn’t do to get herself caught. She had only just recovered fully herself. Gabriel would be furious if she got into more trouble, especially if he surmised the reason for this nighttime escapade.

The door to Angela’s office was open a crack, allowing Moira to silently swing it open with one outstretched hand. Inside, the physician herself was bent over her desk and reading something on a small tablet. The room was a mess. There were stacks of books and papers on every flat surface, and Moira spied what looked like the latest prototype of the Valkyrie suit sticking out of a duffel bag.

Angela did not look up as Moira crossed the room and came to a stop behind her. She only lunged upright when Moira’s fingers trailed a sensitive path down the back of her neck, coming to rest under the lab coat in the curve between throat and collarbone. Her hand could easily curl in and press down on her windpipe as it had many times before, as Angela had begged her to do—

“Moira! You’re _not supposed to be here—_ ”

Her fingers pressed down, and then she could _feel_ the gasp that left Angela’s throat as well as the little swallow that followed it. How lovely it was to have the doctor in her proper place, leaning over her desk with Moira pressed behind her. Not begging yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“Quiet, angel, or you’ll wake your patients.”

Her hand left Angela’s throat and slid slowly, deliberately lower. Her fingers moved over her smooth collarbone and down, down, until she felt lace. Before she could go any further, Angela intercepted her with a hand around her wrist. Her grip was weak, reluctant.

“Moira...”

Probably she had meant it to sound sterner, but it was strained, breathless.

“My physician gave me the all-clear yesterday,” Moira murmured, “and we have some unfinished business, don’t we?”

Her lips brushed the shell of Angela’s ear. She could see how she flushed, how her ears and then her cheeks went red. Even her chest felt hot where she was touching it. If her fingers could move a little further, would she find Angela’s nipples hard and aching to be touched?

“Well,” she sighed, yanking her hand out of Angela’s grasp and then out of her shirt altogether, “if you’re not interested, I have other work to be done.”

“No!”

The hand caught hers again. Angela managed to undo the top buttons of her lab coat even with as her fingers trembled. Then she pulled it and her shirt off her shoulder, leaving a single white strap exposed.

“Please touch me,” she whispered.

“What do you say?”

“Please, Doctor O’Deorain...”

“Good girl.”

Moira’s teeth found Angela’s neck and she sucked hard. She intended to leave bruises, leave marks all over the angel’s body to remind her to whom she belonged. Their little game in Moira’s medbay had been fun, but now it was over, and Angela couldn’t expect to get away with such behavior.

Angela guided her hand back down into the cup of her lacy bra, and Moira needed no more invitation to knead at her soft breast. Angela’s skin was hot to the touch, and as expected her nipple was stiff, growing stiffer as Moira gave it a pinch between her fingers.

Angela _moaned._ Her other hand came up to tangle in Moira’s hair, and when Moira pulled away from her throat to kiss her, she panted into the kiss and sucked at Moira’s tongue, her lips, anything she could reach.

Moira pulled away to look down at Angela’s swollen pink lips and the string of saliva that connected them. She was so beautiful all the time, really, but seeing her flushed and eager took Moira’s breath away every time. If an angel, then a fallen one.

“You’re such a slut,” she chuckled against Angela’s neck. Already her bites stood out red and angry against the pale skin, and they’d only just started. “But you need to be quiet...unless you want your patients to wake up? To come in here and see you begging me to fuck you?”

Angela said nothing, but the broken whine that fell from her lips conveyed everything she meant. Moira smiled a foxlike grin. In an instant the hand not toying with Angela’s breast was slipping into the hem of her pants, into her underwear, between her thighs—

“ _Please_ ,” Angela intoned again. She rolled her hips frantically against Moira’s fingers. She was positively dripping, and so open that Moira had no doubt she could fit three fingers in without any difficulty. But she did not fill Angela’s sopping cunt, did not even touch her clit. She pulled her hand out again and listened to her fellow physician’s disappointed noises with relish.

It was somewhat difficult to fish the scalpel out of her front pocket, though she eventually managed it. The blade was safely retracted, but once it was in her hand she extended it again. Angela tried to look over her shoulder, but with Moira still pinning her to the desk she couldn’t turn far enough to see what was going on behind her back. No matter; she would find out soon enough.

Moira had brought the blade with less-than wholesome scenarios in mind. She and Angela had discussed it before, briefly, and she could think of no better time than now, as she extracted her meticulously-planned vengeance.

Angela tensed as stiff as a board when she felt the frigid metal press against her thigh. Not enough pressure to cut; Moira was careful. She drew the blade upward in a careful line until it came to rest against the hem of Angela’s panties.

“Moira, is that—”

“I advise holding very, very still, angel.”

Her other hand, still sticky, slipped between the panties and Angela’s skin. The scalpel was sharp enough then that it took very little effort to slice through the sheer fabric.

“Oh—!”

“ _Still_.”

The blade traced a wicked line over Angela’s outer lips, and then ghosted over her labia before pressing briefly, gently, against her clit.

Angela stayed still, but Moira could see the effort it required. Her eyes were closed and her brows furrowed, her teeth digging into her lip.

Would she like the scalpel deeper? Would she like Moira to leave her scarred and bloody?

But Moira explored no further, simply repeating the incision on the other leg of Angela’s panties and pulling them away.

“If you can’t be quiet, this will have to do,” she murmured. “Open your mouth.”

Angela’s eyes met hers. For an instant it seemed she was about to protest, to offer some cursory resistance and pretend they didn’t both know she wanted this.

But then her jaw opened and she had Moira fixed in the desperate look that she always got when she wanted to be touched, wanted to be _fucked._

“Good girl,” Moira said flatly, and she pushed the panties in. How lovely Angela’s mouth looked spread around the white cloth. Could she taste her arousal there, the wetness she spilled so easily with just a few gentle touches?

“Listen to me very closely now. You are to keep your hands on the desk. You are not to move. But if you want me to stop, Angela, hold up two fingers.” Moira demonstrated with her own hand where Angela could see. “Two fingers and I will stop immediately. Do you understand?”

Angela nodded. Behind her back, Moira’s smile widened.

It was a simple thing to pull the straps from Angela’s shoulders and shove her bra down. It joined the mass of her shirt and labcoat, bunched where her waist met the desk, but left her back exposed.

“Exquisite,” Moira murmured. Her hands, one on either side of Angela’s neck, traced lightly over her shoulders, down her sides, around the angular protrusion of her shoulder blades. Her thumbs wandered down the column of vertebrae, stark under pale skin.

Angela fidgeted. She was sensitive and more than a little ticklish, but with the makeshift gag stopping her tongue she could neither laugh nor protest. Her hands remained spread atop her desk, though her fingers dug in as Moira’s lips followed her hands.

She adored teasing Angela. When it came to her own pleasure she was quick and to-the-point, focusing on climax rather than foreplay. But there was something euphoric about winding the angel up, about watching her blush and beg and squirm. Moira was, perhaps, crueler than she needed to be, but how was she to resist when Angela always put on such lovely shows for her? Certainly she could put her fingers or tongue on Angela’s clit now and have her finished within a handful of minutes, but where was the fun in that? It was much better to touch her slowly, gently, to tease her until she couldn’t take it anymore, until it took only the smallest of touches to make her come.

Moira retrieved the scalpel from her pocket once more. It was the blade that explored Angela’s bare back this time, the cool metal tracing teasing lines. Not hard enough to break skin. Not even hard enough to leave pink lines.

Her free hand ventured between Angela’s thighs once more. She rounded her wet cunt with one fingertip, spread her lips open and pushed gently into her with two fingers up to the first knuckle.

The skin under Angela’s left shoulder blade split like a zipper opening, like a berry bursting under Moira’s unforgiving fingers. Angela cried out. The sound was stifled in the cloth, but it rang in Moira’s ears just the same. She shivered. She didn’t need to touch herself to know that Angela wasn’t the only one wet.

The scalpel traced a two-inch laceration before she pulled it away. The blood was slow to come but come it did, filling the cut and then spilling over.

Gentle circles on Angela’s clit. Moira could feel it pulse under her thumb. Her fingertips were drenched as she pushed them just a little bit further.

Angela’s hands were drawn into white-knuckled fists on the desktop. Her eyes were open wide, but her skin was still flushed.

“So pretty, angel,” Moira murmured. One hand lazily continued playing between Angela’s thighs while the second drew another line. Beautiful and unmarred skin no longer. A crimson droplet was sliding down her back from the first incision, leaving a trail in its wake. Moira chased it and caught it on her tongue, licking all the way back up and lapping at the wound. Angela shivered underneath her, made another stifled noise.

“I like seeing you like this. You’re dripping for me.”

The angle was awkward, but she pressed her fingers against Angela’s front wall, buried them as deep as she could go before pulling out again. What lovely sounds her cunt made, all wet and open. Moira could fuck her forever just to listen to it. Usually there was her panting, too, her moans and begs, but with the gag in place there was just the delicious _squelch_ of her slick easing the way.

Angela’s hips were moving in tandem with her fingers. Moira offered her the mercy of a few strokes to her clit as the scalpel bit horizontally. Angela arched her back as if trying to escape the blade, but her hands remained on the table.

Fifteen incisions. Fifteen shallow, neat cuts across Angela Ziegler’s back. A cut for each minute she’d left Moira to lay with her arms and legs in cuffs and a speculum lodged inside her. Moira’s hand was sopping where she had four fingers up to the first knuckle in Angela. At last, with the beautiful ruined canvas before her, it was time to stop teasing.

Fingers on her clit and rubbing in steady circles. She knew what Angela liked, what made her come, what made her scream. It was just a pity, Moira thought, as her mouth descended to trace along the final incision, that she couldn’t touch herself instead, come tasting Angela’s blood rich and metallic on her tongue.

The scalpel clattered onto the desktop as her fingers wiped up some of the blood instead. The first incisions had already begun to scab over; the first trails of blood had dried and flaked. It really was too bad. The wounds that would produce a vaster quantity were wounds that Moira would not inflict on her lover.

Not today, anyway.

“Look how lovely you are,” she crooned, and held her hand over Angela’s shoulder to show her. She was perturbed when Angela’s interest seemed more for grinding her hips enthusiastically against Moira’s fingers, but made her point by wiping the blood haphazardly about Angela’s mouth. To see her like that, lips so red, to _kiss_ her and taste blood there…

Another day.

She knew when Angela was getting close. It was harder without the noises, without the way her breath would seize and her voice would become choked. But her body was the same, the frantic circles, her eyes shut tight as if in concentration. Moira helped her along, kissed her back and lovingly tongued each cut she’d made as her fingers diligently worked Angela toward orgasm. She could hear her moans, stifled on her cloth, and her gasps too, every pretty noise as her angel came close, _so close—_

Moira pulled away. A shove between her shoulderblades was enough to send Angela falling forward onto the desk.

She stood still for a few seconds to observe her coworker and rival and lover, how pretty she looked with her back covered in blood and her whole body shaking, as she tried to understand what had just happened.

“Have a good night, Doctor Ziegler,” she sneered, and before Angela could get her hands up to her mouth to extract the cloth and angrily demand _what was that, Moira,_ she had turned on her heel and left the office.

An enjoyable game, to be sure. And the taste of Angela’s blood sat heavy on her tongue as she walked with a spring in her step to return to her own quarters and the pleasant company of her own capable hands.

  


**Author's Note:**

> That's two fics I've written recently that involve Moira cutting up someone's back. Hmm. Also, because I can, read [pas de deux.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14354652)
> 
> Comments always appreciated!


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